Cowboy Payback

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Cowboy Payback Page 5

by Donna Michaels


  “You know what I mean.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he replied with that sexy grin tugging those kissable lips.

  Whoops. Nope. She was not thinking about anything with the word kiss…

  With a quick shake of her head, she finished the toast. “May you have a great life here at Royal Pines.”

  Before he could reply, she clinked his glass and drank, forcing him to do the same.

  Ha, I win, she thought to herself, tired of him having the last word.

  “And to you, Corporal Jennings.”

  She should’ve known better.

  “It was a pleasure serving over you. May you find what you’re looking for here at Royal Pines.” He clinked her glass and drank, forcing her to do the same.

  Darn him.

  Needing to talk about something, anything, she set her drink down and turned to the table by the fireplace. “We should probably eat whatever Bugsby made before it gets completely cold.”

  He nodded. “You’re right.” The captain walked to the table and pulled back a chair.

  Just like at the honky tonk, it took her a few seconds to realize he was waiting for her to sit in it. “Thank you,” she said, not at all used to this type of behavior.

  Nothing against him. It was just most of their chow halls had benches. Or they’d eaten MREs—Meals Ready to Eat—in Humvees or up against tanks, boulders, or bombed out buildings. He was the commander. He was not expected to pull chairs back for the females in his unit. Heck, none of the marines did. It was not necessary.

  This was…different.

  Trisha waited until he was seated before taking her first bite of the delicious smelling chicken. Garlic and rosemary and something sinful with parmesan. A moan rippled up her throat.

  She glanced at the commander and smiled. “Bugsby’s a keeper.”

  He had a strange look on his face, but then he blinked and it was gone. “I know.” The captain nodded, then returned his concentration back to his meal.

  Fine with her. She certainly didn’t need conversation. The food was just too good to stop to make small talk, and before Trisha knew it, she’d placed the last piece of chicken in her mouth.

  “Damn, it’s good to be home,” her C.O. proclaimed, setting his fork down a few minutes later.

  With views like the one out his window, and meals like they’d just eaten, she understood why her captain had always raved about his home. He really was lucky.

  Not that she’d grown up in a shack. Heck, no. She’d lived in what some would classify a mansion. With seven bedrooms, five bathrooms, office, great room, living room, game room, library, huge sunroom, and Olympic size pool out back. She, too, had been blessed. But the peace and tranquility surrounding her at Royal Pines was never part of her life. Formal dinner parties and balls, clients and dignitaries—those were the norm of her childhood.

  “What are you thinking?”

  Startled, she blinked and settled her gaze on the captain. “A…about home, sir. Why?”

  “Home?” Now he blinked. “Huh? You just had a look of distaste, I thought maybe something of Bugsby’s didn’t agree with you.”

  “Oh, no. Everything was absolutely delicious,” she reassured, reaching across the table to squeeze his hand.

  A jolt of awareness shot through her in a tingling wave of heat. Holy smokes. She released him and sat back.

  “What the hell…” He frowned, his gaze searching her face, but she had nothing to give except a helpless shrug.

  That was new. Darn new. They’d touched before, a gazillion times, but no jolts of any kind had ever passed through them. Except, maybe for that strange tingling before by the bed.

  He reached across the table to run his fingers lightly over her wrist.

  More tingles.

  “Shit.” He sat back, cradling his hand as if burned.

  After several beats of silence, she cleared her throat, unable to stand the quiet. “I wonder just what Bugsby put in that chicken.”

  The captain’s snicker had her raising her gaze to meet his, and a smile tugged her mouth in response to the amusement glittering in his eyes. Warmth slowly seeped into her every pore and heated the longer she held his stare. Body blazing despite the air conditioner running full force, Trisha glanced away. And because whatever was going on was crazy stupid, she rose to her feet and moved away from the mesmerizing man.

  Needing something to do, she headed for the bed. “Well…I guess we should finish cleaning up Finn’s surprise.” Reaching for the basket, she ripped off the big red bow to inspect the contents. Her heart about kicked a whole in her chest. “O-o-oh my,” she stammered before a giggle escaped up her throat.

  “What? What is it,” the captain demanded from behind.

  Trisha turned to him, a bottle of chocolate syrup and can of whipped cream in one hand, and a box of condoms in the other. “Sir, please, please tell me what you did to your brother to make him be so…thorough.”

  Captain Brennan blinked, and she watched as surprise and something unreadable crossed his face before anger tightened his features.

  “Give me those.” He swiped the containers from her hands, tossed the condoms in the top drawer of the nightstand, then stalked to the open kitchen. “I’m sorry, Corporal. My brother goes too far sometimes.” Shoving the syrup in a cupboard, he muttered a few oaths, strode to the refrigerator and dropped the can into a slot in the door before slamming it shut. “I need to see the activity director to go over the schedule for this week.” He glanced at his watch then back to her. “If you get tired, take the bed. I’ll sleep on the couch.”

  And before Trisha could blink, he was gone.

  She blinked anyway, then glanced around the silent cabin.

  “So, I guess I’ll be cleaning the blasted rose petals myself, then.”

  ****

  Finn Brennan is a dead man…

  What the hell had his brother been thinking? Condoms? Really? Chocolate syrup and whipped cream? He hadn’t done anything like that to Finn and Cammie—mostly because he hadn’t thought of it.

  A smile tugged his lips as he stepped off the porch. Clever bastard.

  Why was he so upset, anyway? The corporal took it much better than he had.

  That’s because, when she stood there holding up both damn containers, all he could think about was emptying their contents over every luscious inch of her body and licking them off…then putting the condoms to very good use until they were both completely and utterly satisfied. Even now, his groin tightened at the thought.

  Grounding out a curse, Brett marched toward the main building, dialing his brother on the way.

  Straight to voice mail. Figures.

  Finn and Cammie were probably having a good laugh over Operation Payback. That was the third time he’d tried calling his brother today, having tried twice before he’d left the Lonesome Steer. Brett refused to be played. Not going to happen. He’d figure out a way to make this situation work to his advantage. He always did.

  As a matter of fact, he already viewed the predicament as a very good thing. One look at the corporal’s haunted gaze when they’d stood by the window and he’d known she needed help. He recognized the signs. A tautness around the mouth and eyes. Deep pain dulling the vibrancy from her gaze. Jennings needed to be here. Needed to detox after their last tour, and Royal Pines was the perfect place for detoxification. Even she’d recognized this when she asked to wait until after her parents’ visit to break their fake engagement.

  Two weeks, though, was not going to be nearly enough.

  She needed several weeks, if not more, to come to terms with the death and destruction of the innocent from their last deployment. No. Two weeks was not going to cut it. But never in a million years would the corporal ask for help. Hell, no. Pride was too big of an obstacle. So was showing weakness. For some reason, the woman seemed to think asking for help was a sure sign. No doubt a result from growing up in a household with four, tough, older brothers. Not to mention her former D.
A. dad.

  Sometimes showing weakness was a detriment, like in war. But not in this case. This was different. This was the home front. His morale officer needed to heal. But if he asked her to stay to do just that, she’d politely decline and be gone by sunrise.

  Not happening.

  Damn woman was one of his marines who needed help, and by God, he was going to help. He just needed to figure out a way to turn this around, to make her think he needed her to stay to help him out. He knew the corporal and the way her thought process worked. She wouldn’t stay to help herself, but she’d sure as shit agree to help him or anyone else from their unit.

  Feeling better and more in control, Brett entered the main ranch and headed straight for the activity director’s office, a plan already forming in his mind.

  Several hours later, he rushed from the guest ranch with the week’s schedule mapped out and a clear idea on how to turn Operation Payback into Operation Payoff. He just needed to get the corporal to agree. She would—it was a win/win for them both.

  As he crossed the drive, he noted his cabin was dark, and a stab of guilt rippled through his gut. He’d left his fiancée alone a few hours more than he’d intended. Not that she needed babysitting. Still, he hadn’t meant to be a jerk. She was new around here. With Cammie away, the corporal wouldn’t know anyone.

  But his delay had been unavoidable. There were a lot more clients coming in this week than normal. Scheduling was tougher than usual. Finn had a good plan laid out, but a group from some packing company in New Jersey had called on Friday, demanding to be fit in since Royal Pines had had to cancel their trip back in the spring due to flooding. Apparently, this was the only other week the group could make it.

  Pulling out his phone, he pressed the screen button and noted the time. Ten seventeen. Not extremely late. Jennings must be tired, though. It had been one hell of a trying day. He expelled a breath on a grunt. Weekend. The whole damn weekend had been trying.

  Thanks to the misunderstanding between Finn and Cammie, Brett hadn’t had much relaxation since he got home from deployment on Friday.

  Yawning, he stepped onto the porch and shoved the phone back in his pocket. His ass was dragging.

  With a careful turn of the knob, he entered quietly, not surprised to find the lights out, except for the one above the sink. The tiny glow cast a soft light about the cabin. The place was clean. No table covered in red. No champagne, flutes, dishes, chairs, or basket. The corporal even took care of the damn rose petals. Every last one.

  Of course she did. She was a marine. Pride and some other emotion he refused to dissect warmed his blood. Corporal Jennings knew when to take orders, and when to take initiative. Smiling, he inhaled, enjoying the pleasant fragrance that still remained.

  “Everything okay?”

  Not anymore.

  The soft, husky timber of her voice awoke the sleeping giant. He shifted his stance to accommodate the sudden thickening in his jeans and noted the sexy woman’s location. Not good. A spark of anger replaced the guilt settled in his gut.

  “Get up,” he replied, tone more clipped than he’d intended.

  A second later, he was ready to belay that order.

  Scrambling from the pullout sofa, the corporal stood before him in nothing but a gray T-shirt that hit mid-thigh with a Marine Corps logo on the chest. A braless chest. One with a mouth-watering bounce. And two perky nipples.

  Ah, hell.

  Then there was the matter of her legs, all bare and curvy, soft and supple, begging for a caress. They didn’t beg, but he sure as hell wanted to touch them, starting at the ankle, slowly making his way up to her…

  “Sir? What’s wrong?”

  He barely held back a snort. Wrong? Oh nothing, except he was turned on. Extremely aroused. Hard. As. Hell. Other than that, he was peachy.

  Which was ridiculous. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t had sex in a while. Hell, he’d had some last night, several times, in the arms of a willing woman passing through Amarillo. He’d met her at the Lonesome Steer. They danced, shared some laughs and a few beers before ending up at the hotel where they’d knocked boots. And this morning, she’d thanked him for his service by doing some incredible things with her mouth. So, this massive hard on biting into his zipper right now was insane.

  “Get in my bed.”

  Chapter Five

  Damn. That came out wrong. Sort of. Brett’s whole body tightened at the image those words created, and an instant later, he recalled Trisha’s taste, hot, giving, demanding, and the way the corporal had melted against him when they’d kissed in the driveway. That wicked tongue of hers, and how she’d boldly explored his mouth.

  “What?” she squeaked.

  He inhaled, then let it out slowly. “Take the bed. I get the couch.”

  Damn woman shook her head and walked to him. Why the hell was she coming close? Didn’t she realize he had his hands jammed in his pockets to keep from grabbing her curves?

  “That’s silly,” she said, stopping in front of him, indignation flying off her like welder sparks in the night. “Look at the difference.” She stood toe-to-toe, poking him in the throat where the top of her head reached.

  Without her boots, the corporal wasn’t as tall as he was used to, hell, he could rest his chin on her head. Why she appeared petite and delicate, inspiring a desire to protect and keep her safe, he had no idea. She was a marine. A very capable marine. And yet…

  “It’s stupid for you to take the couch when I’m much shorter, sir.” Blue eyes, clear and heated, stared up at him.

  Christ. She was killing him. With some of her hair falling out of her ponytail, that thin, damn T-shirt barely covering her sweet spot, those eyes. So blue. So earnest. And her luscious, full lips? Heat skittered down his spine as he recalled how they’d felt under his—soft, warm…hungry. Yeah, she was killing him.

  In a desperate attempt to hold onto his control, he stepped around the tempting woman and strode to the sofa. He couldn’t seem to think when she stood so close. It was damned annoying. He sank onto the mattress she’d vacated and proceeded to remove his boots.

  “What are you doing?” She twisted around and glared.

  “Getting ready for bed. What’s it look like?” he asked, without glancing at her. No way was he going to peek at her peaks.

  He peeked at her peaks.

  Shit.

  His erection twitched in a painful salute to her sexiness.

  “But I was sleeping there.”

  He gave his head a slight shake and cleared his throat. “You’re right. You were.”

  She glared at him for a full thirty seconds more, chest rising and falling, nipples pushing against the material, testing his strength. His dwindling strength.

  Mouth watering at the thought of drawing one of her delectable tips inside to tease with his tongue, he clenched his fist to combat the itch to touch the other. But part of his brain balked. This was wrong. She was one of his marines.

  Disgusted with his lack of control, Brett grasped the bottom of his shirt and ripped it off over his head, effectively breaking eye contact with her hotness.

  “Your chivalry is noted, Captain, but be reasonable,” damn woman continued to protest. “You and I both know I’ve slept in much, much worse. I was quite happy on the sofa.”

  “You’re right. You were,” he repeated, his control nearing depletion. Irreparable damage imminent. He drew in a breath through clenched teeth. “Take the damn bed, Corporal.”

  She shook her head.

  Son of a…

  Jaw cracking, he counted to five. Time to intimidate.

  “You want to sleep here? Fine. We’ll share.” He rose to his feet and stared at her while he shucked off his jeans. Pure male satisfaction heated his blood when her gaze zeroed in on his obvious erection, then smoldered with an appreciative gleam he felt to the hilt. “But let me make one thing clear. There won’t be a lot of sleeping involved.”

  His heart nearly knocked a hole in his chest whe
n she appeared to take a step toward him.

  But then she let out a strangled groan, mumbling about stupidity and alphas and other nonsense as she stomped to his bed. Heaven help him, his heart literally stopped when she drew the covers back and crawled on the mattress, giving him a brief glimpse of blue lace and one sweet-as-sin ass.

  He stifled another groan. It was going to be one hell of a long night.

  Finn’s going to pay for this.

  ****

  Morning came in the blink of an eye. Trisha stretched wide and yawned big.

  Note to self: Thank the captain for insisting I take the bed.

  A massive cushion of comfort. Once she’d slipped between the sheets last night, a cocoon of warmth and solace had wrapped around her body, and she’d fallen fast asleep. And stayed asleep. First time in over six months. She sat up with a start, chunk of unsecured hair flopping in front of her face.

  Wow.

  Pushing the clump out of her eyes, she smiled. No nightmares. Disembodied voices. Screams. Nothing. Just blissful oblivion. Solitude. Heaven.

  But not for the captain. She shot her gaze to the sofa, not surprised to find it empty. Poor guy, no doubt, had a restless night. The sheets were tossed and half-pulled out on one side of the cushions. Served him right. She tried to get him to let her sleep on the smaller space. Her body fit fine. His had to hang over a good foot. Her insides twisted.

  Chivalry-minded idiot.

  What good did it do him to toss all night when they both could’ve gotten a decent night’s sleep? His last words filtered through her groggy mind. “But let me make one thing clear. There won’t be a lot of sleeping involved.”

  A shaft of heat shot through her body, and her nipples perked at attention. Cripes. The man was potent. He wasn’t even present, and her body reacted as if he was two feet away. Stupid body.

  And last night, jeez, her traitorous libido had betrayed her mind by coaxing her feet to take a darn step toward the man when he’d spouted that unexpected invitation/warning. It had been all she could do to force her legs in the other direction and crawl into the empty bed.

  At least one of them had had a good night’s sleep. Guilt soured her gut. She’d heard him tossing and muttering a few times before she’d zonked out.

 

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